


Lost/Field Medicine & Hypothermia/Infection

by RobinsonsWereHere



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Broken Bones, Fever, Fever Dreams, Found Family, Gen, Hypothermia, Infection, Jules whump, Lassie Whump, Team as Family, Whump, Whumtober, field medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27119507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinsonsWereHere/pseuds/RobinsonsWereHere
Summary: Whumptober days 20 and 21 (which is why the clunky title). After being outnumbered in a gang fight, Carlton and Juliet are left stranded and injured on a small island. They're both more than a little roughed up, and time for rescue is running out.
Relationships: Carlton Lassiter & Juliet O'Hara, Karen Vick & Barbara Dunlap
Comments: 12
Kudos: 21
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Lost/Field Medicine & Hypothermia/Infection

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for a while, and I'm glad I finally got to write it! It's a long one but it was fun, I love writing whump.

Juliet feels like she’s in a movie.

If she were in a movie, this scene would be shot arially, slowly zooming in on her and Carlton back to back, with the crowd of gang members getting closer and closer.

If she were in a movie, she would have at least three more guns.

If she were in a movie, she would know she could make it out of this, because she would be the badass heroine who could fight off the bad guys with improbable strength, no matter how many of them there were.

But she’s not in a movie. All she sees is a wall of angry, tattooed men and women, brandishing weapons and ready to pounce. She only has one gun. And she’s not certain she’ll make it out of this at all.

None of that stops her from gritting her teeth and cocking her weapon. “Carlton?”

“I’ve got your six,” he says.

She nods. “And I’ve got yours.”

He fires the first shots, and she assumes they take out a few of the gang members, but she can’t exactly turn to look, not when there’s a dozen or more converging on her. She nearly empties her clip, aiming for knees and hands and non-vital areas, but all too soon her weapon is knocked from her grasp. Still, hand-to-hand combat is one of her strengths. She hasn’t lost, not yet.

But she certainly doesn’t have the advantage.

She and Carlton had been tracking a few gang members for over a month now, and tonight, they’d gotten the break they’d been looking for. Only, the break had led them unknowingly into the ‘home turf’, of the gang, a marina just outside the city. By the time they’d realized they were outnumbered, they had already been cornered on the pier.

The pier Juliet watches helplessly as Carlton falls off of.

By the time she pulls herself free of her current struggle, it’s too late. 

She runs for him anyway, pushing past multiple assailants as she does.  
One blocks her before she can reach the edge.

Without Carlton fighting with her, and indeed, because she is so focused on him and only him, Juliet’s defenses grow wilder, less effective. She fights tooth and nail, a fist into one man’s eye socket, an elbow into a woman’s solar plexus.

It’s not enough.

They’re forcing her toward the far end of the pier, and the thought of that fall sends a jolt through her heart. She fights back even harder.

This time, her punch lands wrong, causing her to withdraw her fist with a hiss of pain. And when she kicks out at a tall man’s knee, she misses, and he grabs her by the hair and throws her to the ground.

“Ow,” she mumbles, spitting blood. 

Juliet tries to get to her feet, but a boot lands heavily on her ribcage, sending her back to the ground entirely breathless. She’s able to struggle less and less. Dimly she realizes she’s only a yard or less from the end of the pier, but she can’t do anything but lie there, splayed helplessly, vulnerably out. Again, she forces her muscles to lift her. This time, she’s rewarded with a burning burst of pain in her arm. She’s pretty sure she hears a bone snap.

But before she can check, a large, shadowy figure lifts her over his shoulder and throws her to the water below.

\---

Carlton limps through the wet sand, frowning in distaste when a wave washes up, lapping over his nice leather loafers. Although, judging by the throbbing in his ankle, he’s got bigger problems. 

He knows from their brief exploration before they’d gotten ambushed that the whole area is teeming with gang members, probably even more so now that the fight has drawn attention. He can’t go up the beach without being caught, probably not anywhere in the whole marina.

_Which means,_ he thinks, scowling at the rusty, sand-covered object in front of him, _my only option is to go further out._  
To his simultaneous dismay and relief, the lump does turn out to be a boat.

Well, boat might be a generous term.

But it has a motor, and it has gas, and even some supplies under the moldy benches. And it at least looks like it’ll be watertight.

Any hesitation Carlton still has vanishes when he sees a small form, silhouetted by moonlight, fall from the end of the pier. She’s entirely limp, not moving at all save for the pull of gravity. He curses and works harder to free the boat.

Of course, there’s a possibility that it’s one of the gang members who’s fallen, and whether he means to or not, whether he really believes it or not, Carlton clings to the possibility as the boat chugs slowly out from under the pier. But when he reaches the floating form in the water, he knows that’s not true.

“O’Hara!” he calls, hurrying to shut off the motor. She doesn’t respond, and he allows himself only a moment to groan. There go his hopes of staying dry.

When he dives in the water is _cold._ Ocean water is always a special kind of cold, especially at night. As soon as he gets his breath back, though, Carlton ignores the chill, instead swimming the few yards over to his partner. She’s floating face-up, at least. And if she’s unconscious from the fall, she probably hasn’t inhaled much water.

“Alright,” he grumbles, sliding his arms under her shoulders and beginning to kick. “Okay, let’s get you out of here.”

Getting them both into the boat is so difficult that for the time it takes, it’s all Carlton can focus on. When he gets them both in, he can only sit for a minute, shivering and trying to catch his breath.

“What now?” he asks his still-unconscious partner.

They can’t go back to the marina. And it’s fucking _dark,_ the moon blocked out by clouds and even the land lights barely noticeable through fog. Carlton is decent at water navigation on a good day, less so at night. These are about the worst conditions he could get.

At this point his best bet is to head out and hope he hits land. They’re sitting ducks here.

Groaning to himself, Carlton starts the motor.

\---

It’s been over an hour when he hits land.

Well, ‘land’ is a generous term.

It seems like a small island, or maybe a sandbar outside of a beach cove. But he’s shivering, soaked through, and falling asleep at the till. If there’s dry sand here, it’ll do for tonight.

He tosses the first aid kit and the sealed gallon of water out of the boat, satisfied that they’ve hit sand when he doesn’t hear a splash. He’s more careful about lifting O’Hara, deeply concerned by the fact that she’s still very much out cold.

It’s a bit of a balancing act to step out of the boat holding her, especially with his ankle barely able to hold weight, but she’s light as a feather, so once he’s safely on sand he has no trouble carrying her. The dense fog has turned to a light rain by now, so nowhere is truly dry, but he carries her to where he hopes is far past the high tide line before setting her gently in the sand.

“Alright, let’s see…” he still has his waterproof flashlight, thankfully, strapped to the holster right next to his gun, though the latter has probably been rendered useless by the salt water. And he hadn’t thought to take his phone out of his pocket, either. Damn.

The point is, the flashlight works, and with it he can tell O’Hara doesn’t seem to have any head injuries. Flashing the beam over her torso doesn’t reveal any blood, either. He reaches for her wrist to check for a pulse, and quickly learns he should’ve used her jugular for that.

When he presses against her left wrist, he feels bones that he doesn’t think should move shift under his touch, and before he even has the chance to process that, O’Hara is jerking underneath him, pulling her arm away and making a rasping, pained, gasping noise as she struggles to sit up in the sand.

“Wha’s going on? Why’s it dark? What happened? Where am I?”

She seems lucid, at least, though her eyes are frantically darting around and she’s now cradling her left arm to her chest. Carlton carefully moves closer, into her field of vision. 

“Easy, O’Hara. It’s just us. You took quite a beating, I’m assuming. Nothing bleeding…” he trails off as he sees the new stain on her shirt. “...except maybe your arm.”

She gingerly holds it out, examining it for herself. When she rotates it, she hisses in pain, and Carlton, seeing an angle he hadn’t checked before, has a pretty good idea as to why.

“Okay,” he says, shining his flashlight beam on the bloody bone currently sticking _out_ of her forearm. “That’s not good.”

“Yeah,” O’Hara mutters, sounding breathless. He watches her warily. 

“You’re not gonna pass out, are you?”

“I can handle a little blood,” she says, but the weak tone hasn’t left her voice.

He moves closer, rising on his knees to get a better look at her arm, but doesn’t dare touch it. “Fuck. Oh, hell. I’m going to have to use the damn emergency training, aren’t I?”

“I’d do it myself, but I think I need two hands,” she says drily.

“Hang on. There’s a first aid kit around here somewhere…”

He finds the kit a few yards away in the sand, and grabs the water, too. WHen he opens it, though, it’s clear he doesn't have much to work with.

“Okay…” he says, shuffling through the supplies. “Um, Advil is the strongest painkiller we’ve got.”

“Give it to me,” O’Hara groans. “We probably want to reduce the inflammation, anyway.”

He doles out three pills and gestures to the water. While she takes them, he keeps looking. “Alright, there’s gauze and antiseptic wipes… honestly, I think our best bet will just be to rinse with water. And the gauze isn’t gonna be enough, especially without splints…”

O’Hara grimaces. “You’ll have to cut my jacket sleeve off, anyway. I may as well sacrifice the whole thing for a sling or whatever.”

“Yeah.” Carlton nods absently, trying to gear up for the unpleasant task ahead. “I can make that work.”

After a moment or two of them both sitting in silence, Juliet holds out her arm, wincing at the movement. “C’mon, Carlton. Just get it over with.”

Cutting the sleeve off is fine.

Rinsing the wound makes them both grimace.

But setting the bone…

O’Hara’s screams will stay in his nightmares for months.

And even once he’s set the protruding bone back inside the gash, connected as best he can to the rest of it, they realize that her ulna is broken, too. Carlton and Juliet exchange glances of dismay, but he has no choice but to do it again, feeling for the break under her skin and moving it back together.

When it’s over, Juliet lies in the sand, spent, her voice hoarse and her screams still echoing in the night.

“Maybe,” she pants, “that’ll help someone find us.”

Carlton snorts. “Who says we’re lost?”

“I don’t have enough energy to move right now,” she replies, “so please imagine me giving you a skeptical look.”

“Okay,” he admits, “I don’t really know where we are.”

She turns her head to look at him. “What time is it?”

“Uh…” he glances at his (thankfully waterproof) watch. “Almost one in the morning.”

O’Hara yawns. “We should sleep.”

Shrugging, Carlton nods. “No better option than right here.”

Juliet pulls him down with her good arm. “C’mon. We’re both soaking wet and exposed, and I don’t even have a jacket anymore. We’re gonna have to cuddle.”

He makes a face even as he obliges. “Can we call it something else?”

His partner only laughs. “Oh, your hands feel nice.”

One of his hands has found her exposed arm. Except, his hands are ice cold. “What?”

She shrugs against him. “Feels nice. I’m kinda hot. Probably just the adrenaline.”

Carlton frowns. They’re both soaked through, and it’s still kind of raining. No way she should be hot. When he notices a glassy sheen to her eyes, he moves his hand to her brow.

“Shit,” he mutters, wincing at the dry warmth of her skin. “O’Hara, you’re burning up.”

Her nose scrunches. “Just my luck.”

He raises up on his elbows, glaring at her arm in the sling like he can see the malevolent bacteria. _She probably picked something up on that damn boat._

“Well, I already gave you ibuprofen,” he mutters. “Not much else I can do right now.” He looks back at her, hating the feeling of uselessness. “I’m sorry.”

Juliet nods, then yawns. “Come on, Carlton. Like you said, nothing we can do about it now. Let’s get some sleep.”

Carlton doesn’t want to sleep. Every instinct he’s ever had is screaming at him to pace the island, to try to find some method of communication, or at least figure out where they are. But O’Hara pulls him down, settling in and using him as a pillow, and he finds that his eyelids soon begin to droop.

Maybe a few hours of rest aren’t such a bad idea.

\---

She wakes up wet.

Or is she even awake at all?

When Juliet moves, her arm feels heavy, and she thinks she can feel sand and water both inside her sleeve.

But her other arm feels solid and numb, except it’s not numb, because it burns with heat and throbs with pain. She can’t move it, though. Maybe it’s not her arm.

She can feel the pain but she can’t control her own limb? That doesn’t make sense.

Juliet laughs at that, because clearly this is all some weird dream. She moves her good arm around like she’s making a snow angel-- a _sand_ angel. It splashes in water, and she laughs more.

Then Carlton is there, crouching over her, blocking out the sun, though she thinks it’s cloudy. How is he blocking out the sun if there isn’t any? This is really confusing.

“O’Hara,” he says. His voice sounds weird. Quiet. Muted.

Juliet makes a face at him and rolls over. This dream feels too weird. She’s going back to sleep.

\---

Carlton hates that he’d succumbed to his exhaustion last night. Things are far, far worse this morning, and because he’d been weak enough to sleep, it must be his fault.

The first thing he notices is that he’s waking up in several inches of water. Not enough to submerge his chest-- or worse, his face-- but enough to confirm that the island he’d found was nothing more than a sandbar, and is now part of the ocean once again.

When he’s more awake he’ll have to figure out if the water’s rising, but for now his attention is pulled to his partner, lying in the sand next to him. She’s giggling in her sleep and moving around a bit. He has to say her name several times before she looks at him. So she’s awake, at least, but that seems like the wrong term. There’s a flush to her cheeks and her gaze is far away, not really looking at him. She’s even worse than last night.

When she rolls over and closes her eyes again, there’s not much he can do about it. He stands, stretches, and wades through the water to grab the water jug and first aid kit, the latter of which is probably useless now that it’s soaked.

Standing up, however, he realizes they have a much bigger problem.

The boat is gone.

Carlton stares in shock for a moment, his jaw hanging open.

Then, he looks up at the sky, throwing his fists up in frustration.

“Fuck!” He screams. “What the _fuck!?_ Are you fucking kidding me!?”

He throws his temper tantrum for a little longer, despite the protests of his swollen ankle, but is finally distracted by O’Hara shifting in the sand. She sits up, disheveled and disoriented. “Carlton?”

“Hey.” Though he’s reluctant to get more wet, Carlton instinctually crouches down with her. “How are you feeling?”

“I…” her brow knits with confusion, and her eyes are unfocused and glassy. “I don’t know.”

Carlton frowns deeply. She’s only getting worse, and he can’t do much of anything to help her. “You’re okay, O’Hara,” he says anyway. “I’m gonna get you some more medicine. Drink some water.” He pushes the gallon, now almost half-empty, toward her.

She looks up at him, confusion clear in her blue-gray eyes. “You… you need to drink… too.”

He almost shakes his head at that. She’s sick and shivering and out of it, and she’s still trying to put him first. “I’ll drink,” he assures her. “But right now, you need it more.”

\---  
Karen sits in her office, scowling at the file on her computer. Leave it to her best two detectives to not show up for work and not leave any official record of why that might be. She remembers they’d worked late last night, which only increases the probability that they’re truly missing, not just late. But right now she’s stuck in the most irritating part of a search-- trying to get it off the ground.

Knowing that O’Hara and Lassiter had been chasing a gang for a while now, she’s sent one patrol to keep an eye out for those members and one patrol to search for Lassiter’s work vehicle, on the off chance he’d left it near where they were investigating. She’s got all of their recent files pulled up now, but there’s nothing new, no fresh clues or leads. She knows what happened. They found something and rushed off, too caught up in the chase to go through the proper channels.

God damnit, why couldn’t they have slowed down and thought it through, for once?

Someone knocks at her door, and she’s glad for the interruption. “Come in.” 

It’s McNab, who had been searching for Lassiter’s car. “Chief! We found the car. Parked in a free parking lot close to Goleta Point. And there’s been a lot of reported gang activity around the marina near there!”

His excitement is giving her a headache, but his information is good. “Alright, round up as many as you can find. Parking tickets, carrying without a license, whatever you can bring them in on. Hell, if they’ll come quietly for questions, do it. As soon as you have an inkling of an idea about if O’Hara and Lassiter were there recently, tell me.”

“Copy that!” McNab gives her a nod, nearly bouncing.

“What are you waiting for! Go!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Karen scowls at the now empty doorway. “I’ve told you not to call me that.”

\---

Juliet thinks this is what drowning feels like.

She knows she’s sitting on the sand, with Carlton’s warm arms around her. But all she can feel is water. Cold sea water slowly rising, almost to her hips now. Rain pelting her ceaselessly, almost stinging as it hits. The sound of her own breathing, of Carlton’s, fades away. When she closes her eyes-- and she must, she can no longer keep them open-- all there is is the water.

Is Carlton saying her name? Or is the rhythm of the waves playing tricks on her? Is he even really there at all? Her head feels fuzzy, her mind sluggish. There’s a burning throb in her left arm, but that hardly makes sense, because she can’t feel anything in the rest of her body. She doesn’t trust her senses anymore. She doesn’t know what’s real.

Helpless and delirious, Juliet can do nothing but turn her face to the sky.

\---

When several difficult interrogations confirm that Lassiter and O’Hara had been at the marina the previous night, Karen knows what her next step is. It’s a nice feeling, being able to act, and it almost pushes away the fear that’s settled in her chest.

After all, the only reason the gang members they’d brought in had admitted to seeing Lassiter and O’Hara was to flaunt the fact that they were likely dead.

Karen doesn’t like to imagine it, picturing her detectives wounded and struggling, backed into a corner until there was nowhere to go but down. So she doesn’t.

The phone is answered on the second ring.

_”US Coast Guard, Land Office, Santa Barbara.”_

“Yes, this is Chief Vick of the SBPD,” she says. “I’d like to speak to Commander Dunlap.”

_”I’ll patch your call through, just one moment please.”_

After a good five minutes of hold music, during which Karen sits rigidly in her chair, fingers drumming the wood of her desk, there’s a click and a beep, and a new voice on the other end.

_”Karen, what can I do for you?”_

“I need a search and rescue mission, Barb,” she explains. “And it’s going to be your jurisdiction.”

Barbara gives a slight huff. _”You know, ordinarily I would gloat, but this seems a little more serious. How many people did you call before you called me?”_

Gritting her teeth, Karen makes herself focus on what’s at stake. “Two of my detectives are missing, and their last known location was the Goleta Point Marina. The information we have says they’re gone for good--” she winces-- “but I wouldn’t put it past them to find a boat or _something.”_

_“Well, it wouldn’t be the hardest part of my day to take a boat around the area,_ Barbara says. _”Tell you what, I’ll be nice. You can even come with.”_

“Of course I’m coming with,” Karen snaps.

_”Of course.”_ The hint of laughter in Barb’s voice is infuriating. _”City Harbor, 45 minutes. Don’t be late.”_

The only goodbye they exchange is a _click_ at the end of the line.

\---

Carlton takes a swig from the jug of water, scowling into it as he registers the lightness of the weight in his hand. It’s very nearly empty, and it’s getting harder and harder to make O’Hara drink. She’s shivering against him, and her eyes are glassy, when they’re open.

Carlton is shivering, too.

The tide at least seems to be going out, but the rain hasn’t stopped. He doubts he’ll ever be dry again. They’re stranded on a fucking sandbar, ridiculously close to shore, and all because he hadn’t thought to try to anchor the boat.

If he were alone, he might swim for it. Getting lost and drowning would be preferable to dying of thirst just sitting here. But he can’t leave O’Hara, and if her arm is infected, she’s not going to get any better.

An idea comes to him, making him sit up a little straighter. Juliet’s arm has been wrapped for nearly twelve hours, and it hasn’t exactly been kept dry. The gauze in the first aid kit had been sealed in plastic… it might be worth changing the dressing…

“Hey, Juliet,” he says softly, rubbing her good arm to get her attention. She doesn’t respond, and he frowns. “Juliet? Can you hear me?”

She lifts her head a bit, but her eyes look past him. Carlton heaves a sigh. She probably can’t understand anything he’s saying right now, but he keeps talking anyway.

“I’m gonna take a look at your arm,” he tells her, making sure to speak clearly. “I think I should change the bandage.”

Juliet still doesn’t react. Carlton takes a deep breath and reaches for where her arm hangs in the makeshift sling. Already, echoes of her screams from the previous night are reentering his mind.

She winces when he removes the sling, but doesn’t make a sound. Carefully, Carlton takes her hand, lifting her arm so that he can find the end of the bandage. Juliet whimpers and tries to pull away.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

The sight of the bandage makes his stomach turn. It’s soaked with blood, from the dark, almost brown stain near her wrist to the faded pink of the outer edge of the bandage. It’s dripping polluted saltwater and looks altogether disgusting.

Juliet lets him unwrap the bandage for the first two layers, but when he gets to the bottom layer, it sticks in the gash in her arm, and she makes a hoarse squeaking sound. “Sorry, sorry,” Carlton apologizes again. “Jesus, it’s really sealed in there, isn’t it? I’m sorry, O’Hara. This is going to hurt.”

For a moment, he only stares at the soaked gauze. “Like ripping off a band-aid,” he mutters.

He does manage to quickly tear the gauze from the wound, but Juliet jerks away, then cries out at the sudden movement of her arm. Her momentum throws her backwards until she splashes in the shallow water. Carlton hurries to her side, lifting her up.

“Easy, easy,” he mutters. “You’re alright, Juliet. I’ve got you.”

Her chest rises and falls rapidly, but he’s still trying to re-bandage her wound. He frowns at the sight of sand in the still-bloody gash. The options are to use the last of their fresh water to rinse it, or…

“I’m sorry, Juliet,” he says. “This is going to sting.”

When he submerges her arm in the ocean water, she gives a low moan, an almost animal sound. Carlton doesn’t want to touch the wound, so he just waves his hand around underwater, creating a current to move the sand away.

“Okay, it’s done,” he says, removing her arm from the water as quickly as he can without hurting her more. For the first time, he really gets a good look at the wound. The gash is small-- well, not _small,_ probably over two inches-- but deep, duh, seeing as the bone had come all the way through. The center is dark, gelatinous blood, but around the edges it’s getting crusty, with something white beginning to grow over it.

Yeah, that’s definitely infected.

Carlton grabs the sealed packet of gauze and opens it, relieved to find that the material actually has stayed dry. “Alright, let’s wrap this back up,” he mutters. O’Hara is still only staring off into the distance, her breathing shallow and rapid. Carlton frowns deeper still.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he tells her as he wraps her arm. “We’ll get out of this.”

But he doesn’t know how. And between the two of them, he’s never been the optimist.

\---

It’s been under an hour of searching, but already, Karen is growing impatient. She stares out the front of the boat, then paces to the back, leaning out from under the roof even though it means she gets rained on. When she returns to the dashboard, Barbara gives her a look.

“Don’t rock the boat.”

Huffing in frustration, Karen drops into a seat. Between the wind blowing the rain all around and the sea spray splashing up, it’s like sitting in a puddle. “What are we doing? I think we’ve been in this spot already.”

“We have,” Barbara says calmly. “We’re retracing our steps and heading in the other direction. There’s a sandbar a few miles away that a lot of boats get stuck on.”

Karen nods and reluctantly settles back into her seat. She’ll give Barbara one thing-- she’s a professional. She knows what she’s doing, and she’s mostly dropped the jokes.

“This damn rain isn’t helping things,” Barb mutters. “We’re getting close to the sandbar… I think we’ll be able to see someone or something, if they’re there, but visibility has definitely decreased, and we can’t get too close…”

“C’mon, Barb, it’s a military boat. Surely a sandbar won’t hurt it.”

Her sister looks askance. “How you occupy a position of authority in Santa Barbara without knowing a damn thing about boats, I will never know.”

Glaring, Karen folds her arms over her chest. “We grew up in Denver!”

Barb opens her mouth to retort, but in the next instant, her attention is taken by something else. “Hang on… I see something…”

Immediately Karen is on her feet, joining her sister as they crane their necks out over the windshield. “Is that… could it be…”

Barb takes firm hold of the wheel, her face grim and determined. “Let’s find out.”

\---

Carlton hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he’s awoken by a dull roaring that he can’t quite place. It’s too loud to be the ocean… too constant to be thunder…

Squinting out over the water, his jaw drops when he spies a boat. A _boat._ Heading right towards them.

Though he mostly has to stand on one foot now, he still forces himself upright, waving his arms. “Hey!” He yells, his voice cracking from lack of use. “HEY! Over here!”

On the ground next to him, O’Hara shifts and moans. He’s encouraged to see her pushing herself up a bit.

“We need help!” He yells. “Over here!”

By now the boat is close enough that he can identify it as coast guard. _Damn lucky they’re in the area,_ he thinks. But as it slows and lowers a smaller boat, he finds himself squinting at the figures on it. Even from a distance, they look familiar.

For the first time since the day before, a smile curls over his face.

_Maybe this is more than luck._

Sure enough, Chief Vick and her sister are the ones rowing the short distance from the boat to the sandbar. When they hit the sand, the chief is the first one out.

“Lassiter!” She calls. “Thank god. Jesus christ, Carlton, I thought you were dead.”

“I’ve had worse,” he says. “But O’Hara’s in bad shape.” He drops to the ground next to his partner. “Juliet. _Juliet._ can you hear me?”

She blinks at him a few times, but then her eyes close, and she slumps against him. Carlton gathers her into his arms. “Alright, don’t worry. We’re safe now. We’ll get you help.” As he stands, he can’t help but wince and stumble when he puts pressure on his ankle.”

“You shouldn’t be standing on that,” Commander Dunlap says. “Here. Let me.”

Carlton refuses to let go of Juliet, but the chief and her sister help him hobble to the raft, and they row back to the boat, where there’s a mechanical lift he can sit on and be lifted to the deck. Once they’re all aboard, Commander Dunlap steers the boat, and Chief Vick goes straight for the first aid equipment. “We should wrap that ankle, Lassiter.”

He shakes his head. “O’Hara first. She’s… she’s bad, Chief.”

Karen’s frown deepens as she turns to examine his partner. “Broken arm?”

“Totally snapped,” Carlton confirms, wincing at the memory of setting it. “And infected. Not much I could do about that.”

“We’re less than thirty minutes from shore,” Commander Dunlap calls. “Give her some of the ibuprofen, and get them both something to drink. EMS will meet us at the dock.”

Carlton takes a water bottle himself, and even O’Hara can be roused enough to swallow some medication and water. He sets his eyes on the city skyline in front of them, and as relief washes over him, so does exhaustion.

Chief Vick drapes a shiny heat blanket over his shoulders. “You did good, Lassiter. You’re both alive. But you’re not doing too hot, yourself. Literally, you’re probably hypothermic.”

He gives her a half-smile. “I think I’ll live.”

“I think so too,” she says, returning the expression. “You’re both going to recover. We’ll get to the hospital soon. You can relax.”

Carlton leans back in his seat, his tired muscles aching.

_Relax._

He uses the last of his energy to wrap his arms around O’Hara, and consciously or not, she leans into his chest. She’s cold. He’s cold. But they’re warmer pressed against each other.

_Yeah,_ Carlton thinks, letting his eyes drift closed. _Relaxing sounds nice._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment or kudos, or find me on tumblr at bijulesspookyohara !


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